


We did the mash, we did the Monster Mash

by choctopus



Series: You'll meet some of the best friends of your life at Uni. [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dress Up, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Costumes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choctopus/pseuds/choctopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which our cast go to a Halloween party, admire one another's costumes (a lot) and Athos even dances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We did the mash, we did the Monster Mash

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU where our companions the musketeers are instead a group of rowdy students at a British university (because that's the environment your author has knowledge of)  
> d'Art's a fresher, Constance is his halls warden, Porthos and Aramis are third years and Athos is doing a masters in how long one can spend in the student union bar without being kicked off your course.  
> This is Pan's People doing The Monster Mash, if you were wondering/wanted the right soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aB7Y_aqb5JQ

d'Artagnan knocked on Constance's door, his bottle of wine in hand. Constance opened it, in heavy eyeliner and a dressing gown.

"What do you think?" he asked, gesturing to himself.

"You're a... um. What, exactly?"

"Goth, art student vampire? Ish?" 

Constance looked him over critically. "I think we can salvage it if you'll let me make you up a little."

"Yeah, absolutely. I know Porthos and Aramis are going all out."

"When do they ever not." Constance sighed, "Anyway, go in the kitchen or something while I get dressed and then we'll see what we can do with your face."

 

After fifteen minutes she came through the kitchen door in a corset. It wasn’t as if she was lacking in the bosom department normally, but it was working for her in a way that d'Artagnan had not dared imagine.

"Close your mouth d'Artagnan, you're not a codfish. Come on, lets do your make up."

She sat him down crosslegged on her bed, and set herself down opposite him with her make up bag in her lap.

"Hmm, I think we need to give you more of a deathly pallor." Constance said, inspecting d'Artagnan's face closely, one hand on his chin. "You know, so you look less like a human sunbeam." d'Artagnan grinned, exactly like a sunbeam. He was making a conspicuous effort not to let his eyes stray any lower than Constance's chin. She leaned in close to pat a sponge covered in her own, pale foundation across d'Artagnan's cheekbones. D'Artagnan's world closed down to a small, warm, Constance-scented space. The sponge was gently brushing across his lips now, and Constance's eyes flicked up to meet d'Artagnan's.

"You're blushing right through the make up." She smiled.

"You must be imagining it, why would that be." d'Art's attempt at deadpan was under too much strain to be convincing. It was even less convincing after - prompted by an incredulous snort from Constance - both of them deteriorated into helpless giggles. They leant against one another; Constance's forearms braced against d'Art's shoulders, his face buried in her hair. Recovering, Constance cleared her throat;

"Uh, eyes!"

"Yeah, do you want to do some dark circles or something?"

"Nah, just a little eyeliner needed I think." She said, rummaging in her makeup bag. "Look up."

 

They made their way to the Edwardian townhouse where Anne and Louis lived. Student Union events were all well and good, but Louis would be there either way and at least at a house party you could guarantee the drunken freshers were invited drunken freshers. Plus, you could bring your own wine and, for all that he was an insufferable brat who'd only been elected Union President because no one else was eligible, Louis did have better taste in music than the DJs who worked union events.

 

“Constance!” Anne called down the hallway as soon as they arrived. She hurried over to give her friend a very enthusiastic hug. 

“Babe you look amazing ! The corset is such a good look on you. Oh, and the little horns are so  cute !”

“Thank you! You look… show-stopping. Is that Louis’s old suit?”

“Yes, I got Aramis to take it in a little in return for an introduction to a girl in my industrial relations class. Ooh, let me grab my gun for the full effect!” Anne went and picked up a plastic machine gun from the bottom of the stairs. “Stick ‘em up, doll!” she said, pointing it at Constance.

“Very convincing. The mustache is an especially nice touch.” Constance said. 

“Anyway, there’s cups and nibbles in the living room if you want to go through, just wait til you see what Porthos and Aramis are wearing!”

 

D’Artagnan stepped through the living room door in search of a plastic cup for his wine.

“Aramis! Great outfit mate! How long did that take you?”

"I devoted a lot of my summer holiday to it.” Aramis said. “But oh my, d'Art, what are you supposed to be?" d'Artagnan ran his hand through his hair.

"Uh, vampire, goth... art studenty... thing??" He saw Aramis wince. "I don't know, I just put some black clothes on. Then Constance did my face. You guys made an effort..."

They really had. Porthos and Aramis had immediately attracted a crowd when they'd walked into the party completely done up as seventeenth century French musketeers.

Aramis had sewn jerkins, britches and tabards for both of them and sourced floppy hats with feathers on; while Porthos had made a pair of wooden rapiers and got some replica pistols. They both looked  very dashing. A significant portion of the womens' hockey team had been paying them a lot of attention.

"And you managed to get Athos in costume too!" d'Artagnan had noted, when he glanced around the room, Athos wearing cat ears and a name label reading 'Grumpy Cat'. He was still sat glowering on the end of a sofa with a bottle of wine in hand, but at least he was dressed up. 

"Yeah, we’re very pleased with ourselves. Though it did take a lot of wine and persuasion to get him there."

 

In the living room, Aramis was already deep in conversation with d’Artagnan, but Porthos came straight over to give Constance a big bear hug. 

“Oh my goodness, I didn’t think it was possible for you two to outdo last year’s effort! Where on Earth did Aramis find the patterns for all this?”

“Ah, you know he doesn’t like to share his sources, Connie. You look wonderful though…” He gave her a knowing look; “How did young d’Artagnan take it?”

“Why should he take it in any particular way?” Constance asked in mock innocence.

“You mean apart from the fact he worships the ground you walk on; and the fact your cleavage is awe-inspiring in that outfit.”

Constance smiled bashfully. 

“His jaw nearly hit the floor and couldn’t stop blushing.” She tried and failed to stifle a giggle. 

“Brilliant!” Porthos grinned broadly. “Oh, did you uh, did you see Anne yet?” He asked with a knowing eyebrow waggle.

“Oh god I know, how is anyone allowed to look that good in a waistcoat.”

“Straight people I mean really.” Porthos agreed. The two of them went quiet for a moment.

“Hey, did you hear if Flea was coming?” Porthos asked. 

“Not for sure, I know she was joking around with her girlfriend about them maybe coming as Lenin and Trotsky.”

 

Anne swept in from the hallway, accompanied by a blonde girl in a witch costume. 

“Athos, where’s Athos?” She asked the room in general. Her eye fell on him where he was tucked into the corner of the sofa. 

“Yes?” He said, swigging from his wine bottle. 

“Athos!” Anne said, as if this scowling drunk were the most charming person in the room. “I’d like to introduce you to Ninon. She’s in my debating group, and I think you to would get along. Ninon, this is Athos. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” And she swept off. 

 

Ninon sat down next to Athos, a drink in her hand, and regarded him as if trying to glean the secrets of his soul. Athos fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Hello?” He said, and proffered his hand. She took it, and gave it a decisive sort of shake.

“Nice to meet you, Athos.” She said. “So do you often wear cat ears or is tonight a particularly special occasion?”

“Aramis made me.” Athos mumbled. 

“Aramis is the one who’s supposedly had trysts with half the campus population, isn’t he?” Ninon said. 

“Uh. Yes. He hasn’t… but he… well, I have a list.” Athos replied. 

“What sort of list?” Ninon looked genuinely concerned. Athos put his wine bottle down and turned towards her. 

“He’s caused some trouble you see, not on purpose, just you know, being him.” He said gravely.  “So I made a list. So I can remind him of things he ought to try not to do.” 

“What’s on the list, Athos?” Ninon asked, obviously trying to suppress laughter. 

“Hang on, I’ve got a picture.” Athos rummaged in his pocket for his phone. “I send it to him before nights out sometimes.” Ninon took the phone from his hand and looked at the list. It was handwritten, and colour coded, and blu-tacked to a wall. 

“Crabs?!” Ninon looked at Athos with an inquisitively raised eyebrow.

“Um. The ocean-dwelling kind. Not the pubic lice.” Athos took another swig of wine. “She was a marine biology student, Aramis was being very distracting… “ Athos tried not to laugh. “It took days to round them all up.” Ninon burst out laughing. 

“How many crabs were there?” She asked between giggles.

“Hundreds!” Athos threw his arms up in emphasis. “And… and they were  tiny baby ones too.” The music in the background changed, and Ninon sat up, suddenly. d’Artagnan and Constance had started hand-jiving.

“Athos, it’s the Monster Mash, come dance with me.” Ninon demanded. She’d grabbed his hand, and Athos found himself, for once, actually wanting to dance. He followed when she stood up, and they found a clear patch of floor. Aramis and Porthos had come together from opposite ends of the room to do the most Pan’s People-literal dance moves they could manage.

“Athos, you’re dancing!” Aramis remarked with glee as he swung by. Athos rolled his eyes and refocused on trying to learn the mashed potato from Ninon. 

The night passed in a whirl. Drunken confessionals in the corner of the kitchen, misanthropic bitching over cigarettes on the patio, a vast amount of alcohol-fuelled flirting. 

D’Artagnan and Constance conspicuously failed to keep their hands off one another, Aramis danced with at least three freshers while Porthos looked on; and Athos and Ninon got on exactly as well as Anne had thought they would. 

At four AM, most of the party had drifted off in twos and and threes. Ninon pressed a card with her contact details into Athos’s hand and a kiss to his lips, and left for home. 

Anne waved them off at the door when Aramis suggested the remains of their group go back to his place, leading the way with a cigarette in hand. Porthos wrapped an arm around Athos’s shoulders as they wobbled along the pavement; while Constance clung to d’Artagnan’s waist in hopes of keeping a little warmer. 

 

Aramis’s house was dead quiet when they got there. 

“The others must still be out. Amazing.” Aramis said, having knocked on everyone’s doors and received no response. “They’ve all got lectures in the morning.” He hiccupped, and giggled to himself. 

Porthos, as at home here as in his own house, had gestured for everyone to make themselves comfortable on the sofas. Aramis fetched glasses and lemonade from the kitchen, and started sharing it out. They talked the sort of shit that drunk students often talk, psychoanalysing mutual friends, setting the world to rights and riffing on the silliest ideas. Constance leant against d’Artagnan on one sofa, with Athos tucked into the other corner; the dark cloud over him noticeably smaller than usual. On the other sofa, Porthos sat nearly in the middle, Aramis on the floor, right next to him, almost touching. Those two. The signs were there if you were looking for them, and knowing what campus gossip was like, it must be far better known than they’d like.

 

The talk diminished, and they dozed off one by one, with all the lights still on. It hadn’t even been an hour before the door opened again, and Flea tiptoed in with her girlfriend, Carla, in tow. Carla took the bedroom key, and let herself in while Flea went to see who else was home. 

She found everyone fast asleep, slumped against one another on the sofas. She tiptoed back up the hall and leant in her bedroom door. 

“I’m going to go grab some blankets for these dorks, okay? And then I’ll put the kettle on.” Flea said, in the traditional stage-whisper of the drunk and failing to be quiet. She retrieved a pile of blankets and the duvet from Aramis’s bedroom upstairs and made sure everyone was tucked in before making two cups of tea and heading for her own bed. 


End file.
